


Under a Winter Sun

by kettlepillow



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rating will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-09 00:05:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettlepillow/pseuds/kettlepillow
Summary: Six months after his solitary return from the Arctic, Captain Crozier finds an unconcious James on his doorstep.





	1. Chapter 1

Francis Crozier was convinced of many things. One of those things was, that the house he lived in would never feel smaller. It would never feel right. It would always have a bitter taste to walk the long corridors by himself, merely pretending that he was back under deck of his true home. The Terror. Some mornings presented a terror that he would have to get used to eventually. The terror of waking in a house with someone who served him with a polite smile. Not men who’s hearts beat for the sea like the constant humming of powerful engines.  
Six months after returning to London, Francis still tried to fill the emptiness within himself with anything but alcohol. The feeling of having abandoned his crew, in the back of his mind at all times.

“Good morning Mr Crozier, Sir.” Greeted Hetty the housekeeper. She was a widow who had agreed to work for board and lodging.  
“Good morning, Hetty.” He took a bite of toast and thanked her for the cup of steaming hot tea.  
“I am leaving for my sister’s funeral in a little while.” Hetty put the papers next to the toast and gave him a sad smile. “Bath is not too far but my family might insist upon me staying for a few days.”

There was only warmth in his eyes.  
“I have buried too many good people in a hurry to deny you the time needed.” He fumbled for something in his pocket. “Take this small purse, Hetty. I cannot have you eat poorly on the road.”  
The old lady wrung her hands.

“Sir, there is really no need-“  
“I wish I could give comfort. At least take these few coins.” He pressed the pouch firmly into her palm, closing his own fingers around hers.  
She only shut her eyes and nodded with a half-smile flashing over the wrinkled face. Still, she wasn’t used to the new Francis Crozier. Before his trip to the Arctic, Crozier had had a reputation that was far from becoming. He was known for being a drunk, unsteady man with anger flaring up and turning into depression just as quickly. Seldom had he paid the staff of his parents’ estate any attention. Six years later he was a changed man. Half a year after his return from the expedition, Hetty still heard him waking from nightmares with a shout. He was pale and thin, but soft and more considerate. Now that she was the only one left in his life, their relationship was almost informal. Yet she did not care to hear all of his stories from the ice…

“Thank you very much indeed.”  
“It’s the least I can do.”  
Hetty bowed her head and left. The sound of heavy luggage being dragged over the floor followed shortly after.

Francis resisted the urge to help her. She was a housekeeper. It was not fitting for a man of his position to help a servant with duties. He clenched his fists. There was no need for Hetty to know that Captain Crozier was no stranger to menial work and had spent a considerable amount of time on a whaling ship as a mere butcher just to get closer to home. The smell of fish oil would never fully leave his nostrils. He felt himself choke up at the thought of seeing the ship on the horizon, how his seal fur clothes had started to fill with sweat and tears, searching for something to burn as a beacon. A beacon of hope.

 

The next thing Francis heard was a loud scream.  
A dozen of different scenarios flashed before his inner eye as he ran through the entrance hall towards the front door, where Hetty had sunken against the doorframe.  
The second Francis saw the reason for her breakdown, all strength seemed to leave him as well. He clung to the wooden surface of the door and felt all four limbs shaking violently. His jaw clenched, unable to produce any sounds, he stepped out into the winter sun to fully see the unconscious man on the steps.

“James.” He mouthed tonelessly.  
His vision blurry from tears, Francis struggled to process what he saw.  
The man was wearing a heavy coat, he was half sitting half lying on the last step, his head leaning against the house. Eyes shut, his breath came low through his open mouth, small clouds building with every shallow exhale.

Hetty was on her feet again and grabbed James under each arm.  
“We need to get him inside, Sir. Will you help me?” Her tone surprisingly calm and steady, she looked at Francis with an understanding expression, as he hardly dared to move. “We would not want him to freeze solid, would we?”  
“Umm…how?” He wiped his eyes.  
“One arm under his thighs, one arm under his back and bum, yes?”  
Francis nodded, trying to collect himself.

“One, two…three.”  
They lifted him with more ease than Francis would’ve predicted. The coat seemed to be heavier than the man. His head lolled against Hetty’s chest.  
“The large bedroom.”  
Hetty changed her grip so that she was carrying him more on shoulders and back, sideways they inched upstairs.

-  
Eventually, James Fitzjames laid in bed. 

“I will just inform my family that I won’t be coming. I am back in a heartbeat.”  
“No!”  
Hetty turned around again.  
“You must go. I will manage.”  
She seemed unconvinced.  
“He is half dead, Sir…”  
Francis inhaled shakily.  
“I am aware, thank you. I know what a man looks like before he passes away.”  
Hetty winced.

“Apologies. Shall we at least call a doctor?”  
“No.” His voice was low. He reached for James’ hand as if hoping for support. “Doctors are of no use. I shall see to him myself. Thank you, Hetty. You may leave.”

A low noise escaped James’ mouth.  
Francis heart jumped with fear. All courage gone at once.

“What shall I do?” He searched the housekeeper’s eyes for answers.  
“You need to feed the man. Somehow you need to feed him.” Hetty held Francis upright by the shoulders and her eyes were so wise and certain that the Captain shuddered. “Prepare him herbal tea. Whatever is left in the kitchen. Two parts tea, one part honey. He needs sugar. Half a tea cup every hour for four hours.”  
“But-“ Francis gestured towards his sleeping friend. He felt helpless.

“Put a straw down his throat. One tea spoon at a time. Slowly, Sir. If he wakes after that, there is soup left. You can also mash some potatoes, if you happen to know-”  
“Of course, I know how to mash potatoes!”  
“Good.” She gave him a small smile. “I shall pray for him.”

With that, Hetty left.

-

Francis Crozier sat by his friend’s side and cried. Quietly. They had simply removed his boots and used the coat to tuck him in.

“Ye reek, lad.” Francis let out a gurgling laugh. The brogue rolled heavy from his tongue. “Shall we clean ye up properly?”  
He patted his chest and took the long strands of hair out of James’ face. A muscle twitched. The face. The face he had thought to only ever see again in his sleep. James looked so peaceful. The Irish man decided that, as long as he had any spirit in himself, James would not die.  
“Won’t take long.”

He put a large kettle on the stove and prepared tea. The rest of the hot water was poured into a bowl before he hurried back upstairs, as if James might’ve gone anywhere.

It was not easy to bathe someone in bed who didn’t cooperate one bit. Francis realized that when he tried to disrobe the other man while supporting his head. He had never held a newborn, but imagined that it wasn’t too different from this.  
Carefully he unbuttoned James’ linen shirt. It was stiff with dirt and grey against the sheets. He ripped fabric to free both arms.  
A cloth steamed in his hand.  
After another steadying breath, Francis started to wipe grime and sweat from his friend’s torso.  
James huffed softly.

“That’s right, James. Tell me what ye went through. How did ye get here, hm?”  
He had to get fresh water three times before the younger man’s upper body and face were rosy and clean.  
Eventually, Francis had to take those trousers off. He hesitated.

“I know ye probably cannot hear any of this but, I’m sorry. I truly am... Never would’ve guessed that I would undress ye, lad.”  
With that he pulled down pants and breeches to clean the rest of the skin.  
There were large healing wounds everywhere, the legs being no exception. Wounds from lack of hygiene and malnourishment. It took a lot for Francis to look at James as a patient. Every sore spot hurt him in a way he could not explain and seeing such a confident man bare and helpless made him angry at what the Navy was willing to sacrifice for a bit of glory.

“Let’s wash those locks, eh?” He sighed and set James upright with some difficulty before putting the bowl in his lab to rinse the hair. It was far from ideal or thorough, but at least there were no longer chunks of dirt falling from it and even lice were nowhere to be seen. Carefully he wrapped the hair in a dry cloth.  
Despite the supposed intimacy, Francis felt numb. Mechanically he got the job done and went to search for clean clothes that would fit.

He decided that a woollen jacket of his might be easiest to put on, along with wide flowy pantaloons he had purchased during a trip to the haven of Bagdad.

Carefully like handling a raw egg, Francis dressed his friend. He had never in his life dressed another person. In fact, he had almost lost the right to dress himself during the time on Terror, as Thomas Jopson had applied for said task repeatedly. 

Eventually he was finished and sat on the bed’s edge to catch his breath. Whatever had kept him soldiering on since finding the man outside, was slowly fading into utter exhaustion. He needed time to process the event and maybe even come up with a plan regarding how to proceed.

“Tea’s next.” He glanced at the long straw on the bedside table and took his friend’s bony hand to squeeze it reassuringly.

Only this time, his own hand was squeezed in return.

“Hello, Francis.”


	2. Chapter 2

They simply stared at each other for a long moment. A wet streak travelled down the hollow of Francis’ cheek.  
There had never been a quieter room.  
Their hands still clasped, the two men came to terms with the fact that they were both breathing.  
“Francis.”  
For the second time that day, Captain Crozier fought the urge to sob. 

“Don’t…” He said. “Don’t speak just now, brother. You sound worse than a cigar-smoking swamp hag.” James returned his sad smile, baring a row of stained teeth. “Let me take care of you for now, eh? Get some proper food in your belly and such.”  
Focus. Focus. Focus. Keeping the man alive had priority.  
James nodded.

Francis positively ran to prepare the soup.  
As he returned with a large, steaming portion, James was already sitting upright against the pillows and his face lit at the sight before him. Francis’ heart throbbed with something that could only be the deepest affection he had ever felt for a comrade. 

“Chicken potato soup.” He announced and sat down again on the bed’s edge, putting the tablet in James’ lap.  
James made an attempt to reach for the spoon but couldn’t quite keep it in hand.

“Here, let me-“ His friend took it and brought it to his lips. “Blow.”  
He did and carefully sipped the steaming broth.

“Well?”  
Another smile, broader this time.  
“Don’t get any ideas, we’re going to eat very small portions first. Not the whole pot. Hetty will kill me if I kill you by shoving food down your throat.”  
James gave him a questioning look and glanced at the fingers still holding a spoon for just a second.  
“Oh no.” Francis said quickly. “Hetty is my housekeeper who helped dragging you up here. Not my…Not my new wife.” The next spoonful was already on its way.

“One sip for Hetty. There we go.”

-

It took so long to finish the small portion, that light was already fading by the time James had downed tea and soup.  
Both men were exhausted. Francis ate leftovers in the kitchen, while wondering how they were to get fresh food, if Hetty would not return for another couple of days. Additional to that, the Captain in him feared that his friend might die while he was tossing and turning in the room next to his. There was no way James could stay unattended.

 

“Kept everything inside, eh?” Said Francis with more cheer than he felt, as he returned to the bedroom with a bedpan.

“What about my voice?”  
Francis flinched ever so slightly at the sudden response.

“Well, it’s still pretty rough but much better than earlier, I’d reckon.” He couldn’t help the relief flooding his body and waited for another reply.  
“I want you to know that-“ James was obviously struggling to articulate a number of emotions passing over his pale face. “Thank you, Francis.”

“What for, in God’s name? Not letting you die on my doorstep?” Francis wiped his brow and put down the bedpan to hold his friend’s arm. “You would’ve done the same, any day.”  
“ God, you must have so many questions.”

“That is true, I cannot deny it. But why don’t we give your voice a bit more time?” He inclined his head to look at James. “Hell knows you like to use your voice. But for now, I am just glad that you are alive.”  
James nodded and looked at the bedpan.

“Christ, I had not even thought about that.”  
“Pissing?” Asked Francis.  
“Not exactly keen on you being responsible for my excretions.” He sounded guilty.  
Francis chuckled.  
“If you will present me with other options, I am more than happy to hear them.”

Without warning, James swung both legs out of bed and made an attempt to stagger forward. Francis caught him a second before collapsing.

“ARE. YOU. MAD?” Francis nostrils flared while he helped the man to lie down again. “Do you think this is any different from the Arctic? Do you think that, just because you made it to London somehow, you are suddenly good to jump around? Hours after I soaked your starving body in what could’ve been your last rites?” He put the blanket around James with more force than necessary. “I have great respect for your absolute will to live, James. But there is no cure for stupidity.”

James grimaced in pain.  
“Remember our decision to end vanity?” He asked much calmer.  
James gave another brisk nod.

“Let me make one thing clear, James. I know you would never admit it, but I am aware that you came to this house because it is the only place in Britain you had to go to. And I feel sorry for you because of it. Still, as your friend and a man who saw you almost die before, I shall do whatever is necessary to have you recover and stand under your own power. Because I know that James Fitzjames is a good man but also a vain one. And I want that man to return from the ice.” He put the pan next to the bed. “If getting you back means cleaning your pisspot, then I shall do it gladly.”

Without another word, Francis left and returned a while later with a straw filled mattress under one arm and dressed in his night gown.  
“Do you mind if I camp here tonight to keep an eye on you?”  
“This is your house.”  
Francis sighed heavily.  
“James…”  
“Francis. If you think that sleeping on the ground in your own home is appropriate then there is nothing I can do. Quite literally, since I am bed bound.”  
“Well, I am not going to leave you alone just to return in the morning and-“

James lifted one side of his cover and raised his brows expectantly.  
“If we bicker like an old couple, we might as well share a bed.”  
Francis said nothing.

“It will be so much easier for you to check my breathing and you can rise with dignity in the morning, because your back will hurt considerably less than after a night on the floor.”  
“I slept on the ground for years.”  
“I know. This is not the Arctic, though.”

Eventually, Francis inched towards the bed. Almost cautions, like James might attempt to stand again.  
It had been ages since he had last shared a bed with somebody. The thought of Sophia had become less painful with time. But even half a decade of separation could not erase the memories completely. The constant fear of being caught by her family. The constant feeling of being nothing more than entertainment. Risking both their necks.  
Was this similar?  
Francis glanced at James’ emaciated figure under the cover and decided that it was not. 

“A rather gruesome sight, is it not?”  
“You talk entirely too much, and rubbish on top of all.”  
Slowly he sank into bed and listened to James deep breaths only moments later.

-

“Hungry?”  
Francis balanced a tablet with bread and tea by the bed’s foot end as James woke.  
He was already fully dressed and groomed.

“Surprisingly, yes.” James coughed “I slept like a baby.”  
“That, I can confirm.” Francis put down the tablet in James’ lap and toed off his boots to sit next to him. “Jam?”  
“Pardon?”  
“What would you prefer on your toast? A thin layer of jam or eggs?”  
“Jam sounds lovely.” 

There was a brief moment between them, during which Francis wondered if he could get used to this, as he spread jelly on a slice of bread and watched James eat with his own hands. Gingerly he licked some off his thumb and made an appreciative sound. 

“I would like to tell you the story of my return now.” Said James and took a sip of honey tea.  
“I am eager to hear it.”  
“It’s probably not as wild as you may expect.” He gathered his thoughts. “As you might know by now, Ross set sail to find us. The expedition, I mean.”  
Francis nodded slowly.

“Some time after we separated, Ross arrived in the tribe’s village by the shore. The tribe of Silna’s. I had reached it a fortnight earlier, with the help of Goodsir.”  
Francis’ eyes widened.  
“You and Harry were the only ones left?”  
James pursed his lips.  
“They had left us to die. Harry had fled from Hickey’s camp all the way to ours. He convinced me that our only chance would be to accept the natives’ help. The others did not trust him enough to come with us, I suppose.”  
“So, you two went on your own.”  
“I felt miserable.” James shook his head. “But I knew that Harry was right. It felt like we didn’t take more than a couple of steps each day. And one morning-“  
Francis grabbed his shaking hand.  
“One morning Harry just did not wake up. So I took the medicine and-“ He swallowed. “Two days later I was found by a group of hunters who brought me to their healer.”  
He downed his tea like a jigger of Whiskey.  
“They kept pointing at my uniform and hat. Gesturing. They even showed me some buttons you had lost. The moment I realized that you had been in that tent…” James shook his head and smiled. “I knew that you were not lying somewhere, that you had made it. Somehow. I just knew.”  
“When did Ross arrive?”  
“I lost track after that, to be perfectly sincere. But I healed and spent enough time there to learn the basics of their language. When Ross arrived, he offered the tribe all kinds of rewards. The clan eldest only asked for us to never come back.”  
Both men snorted.

“Long story short, off the coast of Scotland we rammed some kind of reef, because the navigators got a little bit too excited to get home. They had manoeuvred too close to the shallows and underestimated a good old Scottish weather change.”  
Francis gaped openly. How the great James Ross could sink in such familiar waters was inconceivable to him.  
“Ross is dead?”

“I do not know, but I am certain that the Admiralty will keep his fate a secret until it is no longer possible to hide. I woke up in a man’s house who had found me washed up on the edges of his land. I was staying there for roughly eight weeks until I could travel south. As you can imagine, it was a long journey from the Northwest of Scotland to London. I had no money, no belongings and nobody up there knows the name Fitzjames. I slept outside, or in barns, feeding from what people threw away.”

“Did you not consider sending a letter? God, James.”

“As I told you, I was a homeless man. People would not even let me near their houses, let alone borrow some ink. I could’ve been anybody.”  
Francis made a noise of agreement.

“When I came closer to London, I tested my name’s effect ever so often, until finally a coachman would take me to the city for a good story about my adventures with ‘the great Sir John’.”  
“And?”  
“At Central Station he thanked me and through me out into the mud, not without trying to steal my coat first. I had a vague idea where to go, but underestimated the distance to your estate. When I arrived…Well.”

“Bloody hell.” Francis remembered to close his mouth.

“Poor Harry…”

“You did what you had to do.” 

James looked down at his breakfast sadly.  
“All these months, I wondered why I had survived while so many good men had passed. I still do, Francis. How am I supposed to move on? I cannot just reclaim my position in society and act like a hero. If I ever leave this bed again, that is.”

Francis turned to him and lifted the younger man’s chin.  
“Of course, you will. I asked myself the same questions. But your return changes things, James. I had to return, so that you could find me and not an empty house. I had to let go of Whiskey and vanity, for this exact moment. I know that now.”

He cupped the face before him and wiped away all tear stains. James stilled, small hairs on his skin raising at the sensation, holding his friend’s gaze for a moment longer than before.

“How do we proceed from here?”

Francis’ heart sunk and he dropped his hands.  
“I received another letter from the Admiralty’s office. The secretary is inviting me yet again to the ball they organised in honour of the dead and to celebrate my return. The day I got home from hospital they sent out invitations.”

“But you have no intention to go.” 

With a suffering expression, Francis snickered.

“They want to knight me, James. I am certain. The one thing I don’t have that every knight since Percival had, is a fair maiden.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This ball will be used to make me acquainted with certain families and their daughters. They want to see me married.”

James almost inhaled his tea.


	3. Chapter 3

One week later, Hetty entered Captain Crozier`s house again to find a half-dressed gentleman in the salon.  
He wore white breeches and nothing else.  
Mortified she hurried to leave, but was stopped by Crozier standing right behind her.  
“My dear Hetty!” He greeted her.

“Captain…” She glanced over her shoulder. “There is- “  
“God is indeed gracious, is he not?”  
She didn’t seem to understand.  
Forgetting all rules of decency, Francis continued.  
“James. This is Hetty. Our guardian angel.”

As he turned around, Hetty recognized the face she had first seen sunken in and half frozen at her feet. The little scream she let out startled both men.  
James Fitzjames walked slowly but steadily. His smile seemed full of new-found hope.  
“I apologize for my state of undress. James Fitzjames. It is a pleasure to meet my other saviour.”

She noticed his strong handshake in contrast to his slightly bowed posture.  
“Henrietta Randall. I am delighted to see you recovered. I had no doubt that the Captain’s good care would suffice.” 

They regarded each other awkwardly before the other man in the room spoke.  
“James has made extraordinary progress over the week. We had the tailor here to sew appropriate garments for the Admiralty’s ball.”

“I recall you informing me that you would rather return to the ice, than attend a gathering of self-centered stock bulls.” Hetty had flushed only slightly as she raised a brow at Crozier.  
James tried and failed to hide his grin.

“Well, after tonight I might soon be in their ranks.” Crozier tittered. “They are determined to have me find a bride. It is frankly the only explanation for this charade.”

Silence.

“I will see to my luggage.” Said Hetty sudden and louder than necessary.

James looked after her and closed the door.  
“Francis! Must I remind you that all servants have a lose tongue? We will be prey to the entire Navy and their gossip!”  
Francis snorted.  
“Staff! I have her. That is all. She has in fact, saved both our lives, James. I will not have you talk poorly about Hetty. What makes you think that I care at all?”

James ground his teeth and buttoned his jacket.  
“Because it is the only reasonable thing to do.”

Standing side by side in their dress uniforms, they looked like two relicts from another age. Statuesque, unchanged.  
Francis could appreciate a well fitted uniform as much as any man, but in this very moment he didn’t feel proud nor honourable.  
James tried to find the right posture.

“One would never look too thin whilst wearing a corset.”  
“Pardon?”  
James gave up and slumped again.  
“Ignore me.” His hands ran through long hair that had grown well past his shoulders over the months.  
“You cannot wear a dress to a feast.” Francis slapped his friend’s shoulder. “You would steal the centre of attention, at once. All those well-bread ladies being not amused. You would never want to risk that, right?” There was a chuckle rising deep from within him.

The younger man froze momentarily before slowly turning to face Francis.  
“I am so glad to amuse you.”  
“I was actually attempting to compliment you.”  
He watched James fasten the velvet ribbon to hold his hair neatly in place.  
“In fact, I am certain you will steal the centre of attention regardless of your attire.”

James straightened his waistcoat and turned to leave.  
“Surely. Are you quite ready?”  
\---  
As the two men entered the crowded ball room, nobody noticed.  
The butler had left with their coats and Francis felt rather naked. James seemed to struggle with the mere act of holding himself steady.

“Let’s find you a seat.” Said Francis in a low voice.  
It was enough to get the attention of an older gentleman standing nearby. His face lit with excitement as he saw the new arrivals.  
“Captain Francis Crozier! By God!”

Crozier supressed the overwhelming urge to run.  
“Admiral Holborn.” He bowed stiffly and waited for James to follow. “May I introduce you to Commander James Fitzjames?”  
James lifted his head again and gave a broad smile.

“It cannot be!” Exclaimed the old one again. “My dear friend. We heard only rumours about your recovery. You must have gone through hell.”  
“And back.” Affirmed James. “We are very honoured to be your guests tonight.”

Within minutes James and Francis had been given champagne and appreciative shoulder claps by every male member of the Holborn family, gathered around the men like they were animals from a foreign country. Which to a degree, didn’t seem too far off.  
Francis regarded his glass.

“What seems to be the matter, Captain? Is champagne no longer to your taste?” Charles Holborn junior asked. He looked a lot like his father, but with more alcohol already oozing from every pore.  
“Oh no, I have renounced alcohol entirely. It did prolong my life considerably.”

Admiral Holborn gave his son a reproachful glance before he ordered a glass of water.  
“A toast!”  
The music stopped and everyone present interrupted their conversations to hear Holborn’s next words.

“To Captain Crozier and Commander Fitzjames! The heroes of this memorable night, who have endured the unthinkable to return into the warming embrace of mother England and her Majesty the Queen! And to Sir John Franklin and his sacrifice for the Empire’s everlasting expansion!”

Around them waved a flood of applause and shouts of agreement. The music rose in volume and speed. People danced and laughed.

Francis looked at James in silence, who downed his champagne and watched with flushed cheeks as a group of younger noble men and ladies danced in circles around them. He had found his laugh again, now that he was truly home. A cottage in the countryside could never contain a man of his format. James needed the attention and glitter of society like air.  
Suddenly, James was grabbed by the arm and dragged along with the group of dancers, disappearing into an ocean of coats and robes.

“Captain Crozier, Sir.” It was Holborn Junior. Francis longed for sudden death. “This is my niece, Elizabeth. She is my late sister’s daughter. Hearing of your adventures would give her the greatest pleasure. Is that not right, Lizzy?”  
“Indeed, Captain. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Elizabeth Holborn was small and slender. Her skin had a perfect shade of ivory and long dark hair curled down to her waist. She was very young and her spirit seemed untainted. Francis leaned down involuntarily, like a scholar to his favourite student.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss. May I lead you to the closest chairs?”  
“Thank you.”  
Her brother gave a satisfied smile that lacked any decency. Francis wanted to riot, but his days of riot had long passed, and so the girl sat down with him gingerly, instead.

He waited for her to get less tense, but she seemed too nervous to let her guard down just yet.  
“You must excuse me, my lady. I have not spoken to a woman of high birth in quite a while. My manners are as they say… rusted.”

The girl giggled before her eyes found his again.

“I know little of the right manners for a man so well-travelled and brave. This is the first night amidst Admiralty for me.”  
Crozier gave her a small smile.  
“If I may be so bold, how old are you, Miss Holborn?”  
“I recently turned fifteen years old, Captain.”  
He straightened his cuffs.

“I see… Well, I wish you all the best and God’s blessings for this new year.”  
“That is very kind. Thank you, Sir.”  
“You might find it amusing to hear my age.” He leaned in and lowered his voice with a raised brow.

She leaned in as well and her rosewater perfume filled the air between them.  
“I might.” She huffed like it was something mischievous.

“I turned fifty-four.”  
Her eyes widened and she tried not to laugh at his open words.

“Is that true? I would never have guessed that, by my mother’s soul.”

“You are very kind, yourself.” He sat back again and the mood changed. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss. Fifteen is not the age to bury one’s mother.”  
“Do not worry. She passed away when I was five years old. I hardly remember her.”  
“I lost my parents as well. It turned me into a lonesome man. I am quite the opposite of you, Miss Holborn.”  
He realized that she was at a loss for an answer.

“Apologies, Miss. I did not think.”

“No.” She hurried. “No, I… I have simply never heard a man speak in such a way. Freely and with genuine heart.”  
Francis let out a sigh he had held for a while.

“And I shall be open with you all the way.” Leaning forward again, he looked at her. “Your family is of high status and I am here tonight, to be re-introduced into the Navy’s inner circle. As is Commander Fitzjames. You are young and your beauty is an asset that will be used to find…suitors.” The word tasted bitter. “I myself, am supposed to be one of those possible candidates.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
Francis closed his eyes briefly.

“I am an unmarried Captain who, in the words of your grandfather, is now a hero. And your family would like for us to become thoroughly acquainted to- “  
“Marry.”  
“Possibly, yes.”  
“But you are not amenable.”  
Francis narrowed his eyes.

“You do not find my family agreeable, do you?”  
Now it was his turn to be lost for words.

“I…Miss, you are fifteen years of age.”  
“Allow me to be blunt, I have been instructed in all essential skills of a wife long before I first bled. Captain.” Her eyes had turned partly angry, partly sad. “And I assure you no woman in my family has disappointed when it came to conceiving boys.”

Francis considered shaking some sense into her. He ground his jaw once before containing the thunder storm within him.

“I am relieved to hear it. But I cannot marry you, Elizabeth. I am far from what you deserve. Far from the young gentleman waiting to ask for your hand, in the not so distant future. I am certain.” He rose.  
“A young lad like this one.” Francis tapped on a man’s shoulder standing close.  
“Sir, may I introduce you to Elizabeth Holborn? Granddaughter of Admiral Holborn. She has grown tired of my stories and would be elated to dance.”

The young lad looked at both of them in confusion before remembering his manners. He bowed and offered Elizabeth his arm while Francis was already scanning the crowd for his friend and commander.

He bumped into an officer who recognized him and was about to start a conversation.

“Sir, I need to speak to Commander Fitzjames, I’m afraid. You don’t happen to know where he could be?”  
“I saw him a while ago, heading towards the balcony with people in tow.”

Francis was already starting to make his way through the dancing, heated bodies. The way they moved was far from the static waltzing he had expected from such a gathering. But then he supposed this ball was above all else, life-affirming and carefree.

He reached the balcony and slipped through the door, hoping to be unseen.  
Cold winter’s air hit him. His eyes squinting in the dark, he drifted to the only light source. A large lantern, shielded by glass.  
There were a few people gathered around the flame’s warmth, leaning against the balustrade and huddled closely in pairs of two.  
It was already too late. He had found him.

One of the men was James Fitzjames. But he was not alone. A pretty young woman was pressed close to his glowing uniform buttons. Their mouths equally united in a heated kiss. Her bodice was slightly askew and presented the heaving flesh of firm breasts. His hands were tangled in lose strands of golden hair.  
The other couples didn’t seem to take notice, as their state of entanglement was similar.

Francis forgot to avert his gaze. Openly staring like a green boy, he could not believe his eyes, nor the tense feeling rising in his throat.  
When another pair stumbled outside and past him, laughing high pitched and running down into the garden, he finally moved.

Carefully not to fall, as his head swam, he stepped inside again.

The door closed and somebody outside called his name. 

He did not turn around.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued


End file.
